Sorgum Syrup Making Time
My great grandpa Ash, such a tall lean man,
would make sorgum syrup, his very own brand.
He grew his own cane, and chopped it too,
he would bring out his equiptment, he knew just what to do.
That tired old mule, that had plowed all day,
was his best helper, he didn't have to pay.
The fire was built with the wood he cut,
and the canes piled high, was his very own crop.
That old mule would go round, and round,
until it squeezed out the juice, and it ran in the pan.
Early October was syrup making time,
the whole family was busy, this meant a dime.
Early in the morning, until late at night,
he would feed the fire, it had to be just right.
Sometimes the yellow jackets would sting the mule,
and holding him back was all they could do.
Finally the syrup was cooked just right,
it had to be stored, if it took all night.
Another syrup season had come to an end,
and grandpa Ash always had that big grin.
All the neighbors in the town of Branchville,
talk of him often, for they knew him as friend.
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